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LXXII.

Horribly beautiful! but on the verge,
From side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, '
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn
By the distracted waters, bears serene

Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn:
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.

LXXIII.

Once more upon the woody Apennine, The infant Alps, which had I not before Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 2 The thundering lauwine-might be worshipp'd But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear [more; Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc both far and near, And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, LXXIV.

Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly Like spirits of the spot, as 't were for fame, For still they soar'd unutterably high: I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye; Athos, Olympus, Etna, Atlas, made These hills seem things of lesser dignity, All, save the lone Soracte's height, display'd Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid

LXXV.

For our remembrance, and from out the plain
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break,
And on the curl hangs pausing: not in vain
May he, who will, his recollections rake,
And quote in classic raptures, and awake
The hills with Latian echoes; I abhorr'd

Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake,
The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word 3
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record

1 of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of iris, the reader will see a short account, in a note to Manfred. The fall looks so much like "the hell of waters," that Addison thought the descent alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the infernal regions. It is singular enough, that two of the finest cascades in Europe should be artificialthis of the Velino, and the one at Tivoli. The traveller is strongly recommended to trace the Velino, at least as high as the little lake, called Pie' di Lup. The Reatine territory was the Italian Tempe (Cicer. Epist. ad Attic. xv. lib. iv.), and the ancient naturalists (Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. ii. cap. Ixii.), amongst other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rain. bows of the lake Velinus. A scholar of great name has devoted a treatise to this district alone. See Ald. Manut. de Reatina Urbe Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. tom. i. p. 773. 2 In the greater part of Switzerland, the avalanches are known by the name of lauwine.

3 These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign Northerton's remarks: " D-n Homo," &c. ; but the reasons for our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express, that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of compositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare (" To be, or not to be," for instance), from the habit of having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind, but of memory: so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the continent, young persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their

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maturity. I certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards the place of my education. I was not a slow, though an idle boy; and I believe no one could, or can be, more attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason; a part of the time passed there was the happiest of my life; and my preceptor, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury, was the best and worthiest friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though too late when I have erred, and whose counsels I have but followed when I have done well or wisely. If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of him but with gratitude and veneration of one who would more gladly boast of having been his pupil, if, by more closely following his injunctions, he could reflect any honour upon his

instructor.

[Lord Byron's prepossession against Horace is not without a parallel. It was not till released from the duty of reading Virgil as a task, that Gray could feel himself capable of enjoying the beauties of that poet. MOORE.]

[I have been some days in Rome the Wonderful. I am delighted with Rome. As a whole ancient and modern, it beats Greece, Constantinople, every thing - at least that I have ever seen. But I can't describe, because my first impressions are always strong and confused, and my memory selects and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them better, although they may be less distinct. I have been on horseback most of the day, all days since my arrival. I have been to Albano, its lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to Frescati, Aricia, &c. As for the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's, the Vatican, Palatine, &c. &c.they are quite inconceivable, and must be seen." Byron Letters, May, 1817.]

6 For a comment on this and the two following stanzas, the reader may consult" Historical Illustrations," p. 46.

LXXX.

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; She saw her glories star by star expire, And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site:Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly night?

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He is

Orosius gives 320 for the number of triumphs. followed by Panvinius; and Panvinius by Mr. Gibbon and the modern writers.

? Certainly, were it not for these two traits in the life of Sylla, alluded to in this stanza, we should regard him as a monster unredeemed by any admirable quality. The atone. ment of his voluntary resignation of empire may perhaps be accepted by us, as it seems to have satisfied the Romans, who if they had not respected must have destroyed him. There could be no inean, no division of opinion; they must have all thought, like Eucrates, that what had appeared ambition was a love of glory, and that what had been mistaken for pride was a real grandeur of soul. — [“ Seigneur, vous changez

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but all thy foster-babes are dead The men of iron; and the world hath rear'd Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled In imitation of the things they fear'd, And fought and conquer'd, and the same course At apish distance; but as yet none have, Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd, Save one vain man, who is not in the grave, But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave

toutes mes idées de la façon dont je vous vois agir. Je croyais que vous aviez de l'ambition, mais aucune amour pour la gloire je voyais bien que votre ame était haute; mais je ne soupçonnais pas qu'elle fut grande."— Dialogues de Sylla et d'Eucrate.]

3 On the 3d of September Cromwell gained the victory of Dunbar a year afterwards he obtained "his crowning mercy" of Worcester; and a few years after, on the same day, which he had ever esteemed the most fortunate for him, died.

4,5 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," Nos. XXIV. xxv.

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1 Ον οἱ θεοὶ φιλοῦσιν, ἀποθνήσκει νέος" Τὸ γὰρ θανεῖν οὐκ αἰσχρὸν, ἀλλ ̓ αἰσχρῶς θανεῖν. Rich. Franc. Phil. Brunck. Poetæ Gnomici, p. 231. ed. 1784. 2 [Four words, and two initials, compose the whole of the inscription which, whatever was its ancient position, is now placed in front of this towering sepulchre: CECILIE. Q. CRETICI. F. METELLE. CRASSI. It is more likely to have been the pride than the love of Crassus, which raised so superb a memorial to a wife, whose name is not mentioned in history, unless she be supposed to be that lady whose intimacy with Dolabella was so offensive to Tullia, the daughter of Cicero ; or she who was divorced by Lentulus Spinther; or she, perhaps the same person, from whose ear the son of Esopus transferred a precious jewel to enrich his daughter. - HOB HOUSE.]

3 The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed of crumbled brickwork. Nothing has been told, nothing can be told, to satisfy the belief of any but a Roman antiquary. See Historical Illustrations," p. 206.-["The voice of Marius could not sound more deep and solemn among the ruined arches of Carthage, than the strains of the Pilgrim amid the

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broken shrines and fallen statues of her subduer."- SIR WALTER SCOTT.]

4 The author of the Life of Cicero, speaking of the opinion entertained of Britain by that orator and his cotemporary Romans, has the following eloquent passage:-"From their railleries of this kind, on the barbarity and misery of our island, one cannot help reflecting on the surprising fate and revolutions of kingdoms; how Rome, once the mistress of the world, the seat of arts, empire, and glory, now lies sunk in sloth, ignorance, and poverty, enslaved to the most cruel as well as to the most contemptible of tyrants, superstition ard religious imposture while this remote country, anciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, is become the happy seat of liberty, plenty, and letters; flourishing in all the arts and refinements of civil life; yet running perhaps the same course which Rome itself had run before it, from virtuous industry to wealth: from wealth to luxury; from luxury to an impatience of discipline, and corruption of morals: till, by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for destruction, it fall a prey at last to some hardy oppressor, and, with the loss of liberty, losing every thing that is valuable, sinks gradually again into its original barbarism." (See History of the Life of M. Tullius Cicero, sect. vi. vol. ii. p. 102.)

CX.

Tully was not so cloquent as thou,
Thou nameless column with the buried base !
What are the laurels of the Cæsar's brow?
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place.
Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face,
Titus or Trajan's? No-'t is that of Time :
Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace
Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb

To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, I

CXI.

Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, And looking to the stars: they had contain'd A spirit which with these would find a home, The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd, But yielded back his conquests :- he was more Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues-still we Trajan's name adore. ?

CXII.

Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the steep

Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason's race, The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Cured all ambition. Dil the conquerors heap Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field below, A thousand years of silenced factions sleepThe Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes-burns with Cicero !

СХІІІ.

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, From the first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd; But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, And Anarchy assumed her attributes; Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes.

CXIV.

Then turn we to her latest tribune's name,
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee,
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame-
The friend of Petrarch-hope of Italy-
Rienzi

last of Romans ! While the tree

Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf,
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be-

The forum's champion, and the people's chief— Her new-born Numa thou-with reign, alas! too brief.

1 The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter; that of Aurelius by St. Paul. See "Historical Illustrations," p. 214.

Trajan was proverbially the best of the Roman princes (Eutrop. I. viii. c. 5.); and it would be easier to find a sovereign uniting exactly the opposite characteristics, than one possessed of all the happy qualities ascribed to this emperor. "When he mounted the throne," says the historian Dion, "he was strong in body, he was vigorous in mind; age had impaired none of his faculties; he was altogether free from envy and from detraction; he honoured all the good, and he advanced them; and on this account they could not be the

CXV.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart*
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art
Or wert, a young Aurora of the air,
The nympholepsy of some fond despair;
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth,

Who found a more than common votary there
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied
forth.

CXVI.

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled
With thine Elysian water-drops; the face

Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled,
Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place,
Whose green, wild margin now no more erase
Art's works; nor must the delicate waters sleep,
Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base
Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap

The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep,

CXVII.

Fantastically tangled: the green hills

Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skies.

CXVIII.

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Egeria thy all heavenly bosom beating For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy, and seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befel? This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy Love-the earliest oracle !

CXIX.

And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying,
Blend a celestial with a human heart;
And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing,
Share with immortal transports? could thine art
Make them indeed immortal, and impart

The purity of heaven to earthly joys,
Expel the venom and not blunt the dart-
The dull satiety which all destroys -

And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys ?

objects of his fear, or of his hate; he never listened to informers; he gave not way to his anger; he abstained equally from unfair exactions and unjust punishments; he had rather be loved as a man than honoured as a sovereign; he was affable with his people, respectful to the senate, and universally beloved by both; he inspired none with dread but the enemies of his country."- Hist. Rom. 1. Ixiii. c. 6, 7.

3 The name and exploits of Rienzi must be familiar to the reader of Gibbon. Some details and unedited manuscripts, relative to this unhappy hero, will be seen in the " Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto," p. 248.

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